Chapter 15: The Road

Hellion wakes me up round what I assume is dawn – though it's hard to tell this deep in the Weald, where the polluted trees grow so thick it's near pitch black even at high noon. She don't look like she had more than an hour or two's sleep, if that. There's dark rings under her eyes now, and as much as she tries to hide it, I can tell from the way she moves as we get our stuff together that she's exhausted. Makes sense she didn't sleep – probably expected me to cut her throat if she did.

Well, so much the better if she's tired: it'll make things easier if I manage to lead her to the boys.

We have a fast breakfast of a couple more pieces of the jerky, and I light a torch off the campfire before we put it out. Then we move on. We make decent time, and luck's good to us: we don't get in a fight. Last thing I need is a bunch of fungus men or the death cultists coming in for a dance. Like yesterday, I keep banking us west, toward the gun and our camp beside it. Also like yesterday, we don't talk to one another: Hellion must've got her fill of talking last night, because she doesn't respond to any of my attempts to make conversation. Soon enough I'm actually hoping for a fight, to break up the monotony.

Eventually, the wood starts thinning out a bit, so a bit of sunlight can come in through the canopy – enough the dark's just gloomy rather than blinding. The fungus stops being as heavy, then mostly fades away unless you look hard. We're getting close; road can't be that much further off. I keep my eyes and ears peeled for a patrol, but none comes – which makes me nervous. We should've run into the boys by now. Then again, I guess it's possible I took her too far north after all.

Soon enough, I spot the Old Road through the trees – no more than a hundred metres off. I stop and point it out.

"Looks like we made it," I say.

Right after the words are outta my mouth, I hear a snapping and cracking in the distance, like someone blundering through the woods – moving fast, and not giving a shit if someone hears 'em.

"You hear that?" I ask the Hellion. She replies with a sour smile.

"Looks like you spoke too soon," she says, as I draw my remaining knife.

I already know something's wrong. Rodin and Clairwil ain't sloppy – our boys wouldn't charge like that unless there was a fight already on. If it's a patrol, they're already running for it – and if they're running, something'll be coming after 'em. If it ain't them, it could still be something mean.

Sound keeps closing in fast – but before I can suggest we hide and wait for it to pass, the Hellion does something incredibly stupid.

"Who goes there?!" she roars at the top of her lungs.

"Have you lost your fucking mind, woman?!" I hiss.

Before she can answer, a pair of figures blunder into the clearing. It takes me a second to recognize them. One is the matchman. The other's Rodin.

Now I know something's gone fucking wrong. Rodin's spattered with blood – can't tell if it's his or someone else's – and he's got an ugly bruise on his cheek like someone cold-cocked him. The matchman's clothes are all tore up like he's been in a fight, and he's got no weapon – just an unlit torch tucked in his belt. We all stare at one another, aghast.

Rodin recovers first. "The fuck is this?" says he.

"This is me getting that treasure of yours," says I. "The fuck happened to you?"

I glance back at the Hellion. She's got her glaive up, and is looking warily at us – so much for leading her into a trap unawares. Damn it! She'll probably have recognized Rodin from when they fought at the carriage, too: hard to mistake his fancy blue hood. Still, the fact they came in pell-mell and looking hurt seems to have convinced her this isn't an ambush. I can maybe salvage this if I think fast.

Right now, she's keeping her distance and trying to figure out what's happening, so for the time being I just keep half an eye on her in case she tries to run. Rodin, for his part, ignores my question and spits on the ground.

"You're working with this cunt now?" he demands, his eyes flaring with rage. "And where the fuck are Guy and Bressac?"

"They're dead," I tell him. "Blondie too. Fungus-men hit us in a swamp. As for this hellion here, we cut a deal. I take her to the road, she hands over the treasure they stole. Nice and simple."

"Ain't proper, making deals with this bitch," he mutters. "She killed a lotta good men."

I reply quick, before the Hellion can say something to piss him off. She might be tired, but with only three guys and one unarmed I don't wanna take the risk of getting in a fight until I know what's going on.

"What do you care how we get the treasure," I say with a shrug, "long as we get it? Anyway, you told me to bring back the loot – not her head."

"Hrhn," he grunts, sounding unconvinced.

I turn to the matchman, who's leaned against a tree to catch his breath.

"What the hell happened?" I ask him, figuring he'll be more helpful. "Where's Clairwil and the others?"

The matchman meets my eyes, and before he can say it, I know. From the glazed look of shock in his eyes, I know exactly what happened, even before he opens his mouth. My heart drops to my guts, the world spins round me like I been hit in the head, and I barely hear the words I know he's about to say.

"We lost the gun."